


Close the door

by Agin



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: - but just a brief mention, Angry Sex, Angst, Emotionally Repressed, F/M, First Kiss, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, Light Dom/sub, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-17
Updated: 2019-05-02
Packaged: 2020-01-15 13:24:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18499864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Agin/pseuds/Agin
Summary: Rodney catches John in a private moment. John isn’t happy about it. At least, that’s what he tells himself.(This is basically one (increasingly) explicit scene after the other - with some emotions thrown in. Of course, John would deny the latter.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The tags already refer to the whole text and not just Chapter 1.

John grabs the first thing within reach. A small pillow. And when did he get one of those? Quite possibly Teyla’s doing.

It’s _too_ small.

“Close the door, Rodney,” he says and tries not to panic.

Rodney stares at him like a particularly startled deer in the headlight. It’s not a good look on him. Then, he closes the door.

“I meant, with you on the other side,” John feels the need to point out. He refuses to give in to the urge to hide behind his couch. Or to smash his laptop until it won’t show awfully revealing stuff, any more.

Speaking of his laptop – the video is still running, and the sound of moaning and flesh slapping against flesh is filling the room in a now truly disturbing manner.

John forces himself to meet Rodney’s eyes. This is his room and he is entitled to some privacy in here, damn it.

Rodney doesn’t seem to agree. Instead of leaving to _never speak of this again_ , he comes further into the room. “I didn’t know that you are gay,” he says, wonder and accusation in his voice. There is no deer-like staring involved, anymore. 

“No –” John must clear his throat. Which doesn’t agree all too well with the air of easy coolness he tries to project. “No shit,” he tries again.

“Why didn’t I know about this?”

“You can’t know everything.”

For a moment, Rodney seems truly scandalized by this notion. Then, he shakes his head as if to cast off the thought and _sits down next to John_.  
“Are you even gay? Or are you bi? Not that it’d matter in this setting.” Rodney waves a hand between them. “I mean, we could always try to find a woman who’d join in. But I, for my part, prefer it like that. What about you?”

***

John can have sex with women. He just doesn’t like to go down on them - does it every time, anyway. More often than not, they repay the favour.

Contrary to what people may think about him, John doesn’t have sex all that often. It’s easier to settle for his hand. The only exception he has made in the last two or three years, was for Elisabeth. She is different from the other women John has been intimate with. In the respect that he actually _likes_ her. And that she feels safe in a way he hadn’t known before.

It’s nothing serious between them, of course.

They can bring relief to each other and keep a friendly and, whenever necessary, professional relationship. Elisabeth would never try to force him into a role he is not comfortable with.

She would never push him.

Rodney on the other hand… 

***

“There is no ‘setting’ _to_ join,” John makes clear.

On screen, one actor starts to fuck the other in earnest. And John’s erection hasn’t waned one bit. Actually, it has become harder. No surprise, with Rodney sitting right next to him. Not that Rodney must ever learn about this particular truth.

“Which one of them are you in your fantasy?” Rodney has been watching the scene for a few seconds. Now, he is watching John.

And why isn’t this stupid pillow large enough to hide his whole crutch? To hide all of John, preferably.  
He can’t say, if it would have been worse to _not_ be completely naked, but instead to sit here with his trousers and pants bunched around his knees.

John startles, when Rodney prods the pillow.

“Put that stupid thing away. You look ridiculous.”

Giving up his last line of defence? Not so much.

But then, faster as John would have given him credit for, Rodney just snatches the pillow away and throws it to the side. He grins triumphantly. “Now, that’s much better.”

John is too busy staring at Rodney to react properly. At first. Until he – quite suddenly – becomes aware of how very exposed he is. And on his laptop, this stupid, stupid video is still running, showing gay sex in all its glory.

Leaping to his feet, John steps back from the couch and almost trips over the cursed pillow.

He regains his balance, but not in the metaphorical sense, crosses his arms in front of his chest, abandons this gesture in favour of hiding the evidence of his arousal, crosses his arms in front of his chest again because, damn it, he is a grown man and no shy teenager.

His hard-on is still standing proudly.

“What are you doing in my room, Rodney?” John asks finally.

“Sitting on your couch. That should be obvious. I know, they say, jerking off made you blind. But this is not actually true.”

“Rodney …”

“I’m right here.”

“And that’s the problem!” John struggles with staying calm. Or, who is he kidding? He is already far from cool or calm or anything similar.

“Is it?” Rodney, on the other hand, seems to be infuriatingly relaxed. Maybe more than John has ever seen him. It must be an act. To torture him? Get back at him for… something?

“No,” John bites out. “Why could this possibly be a problem? There is nothing better than having someone walk in on you secretly watching gay porn and then refusing to go away.”

“First, you don’t have to hide this from me. Second, do you really want me to go?”

“Yes!”

“Are you sure?”

John glares at Rodney - who shrugs. “I can go.”

For the length of a breath, John can feel relieve washing over him. Then, Rodney continuous, “Or I could stay.”

In the ensuing silence, only broken by pornographic moaning, Rodney gets up as well and steps closer to John.

It would have been easy to retreat again. It also would have been a concession, John refuses to make.

Rodney comes closer still. 

“I realized something,” he says. “You are really good at hiding it. But I am really, _really_ good at finding answers. And for the last couple of months, there was something off about your behaviour towards me. I just couldn’t put my finger on it.” Rodney lets his eyebrows dance. “I could put my finger on it, now.” His right hand is precariously close to John’s errection.

“Really, McKay? Bad puns?” John manages.

“Yes, I know. This is normally your metier.” And then, he _does_ put his finger on it. “I was hoping, you’d say something about being caught with your pants down. Or, rather, caught with them missing altogether,” Rodney continues talking as if he weren’t just touching John in a decidedly non-platonic way.

 _Rodney_ is touching him. 

John would never admit it, but his knees get weak. Blood rushes in his ears.

Things get a little bit hazy after that. 

Until John feels something cold and hard pressing against his back. Rodney has him up against the wall. And shouldn’t it be the other way around? If John had ever indulged in fantasies involving Rodney in his room and naked skin and hands touching certain places – which, okay, he _had_ , repeatedly – John would always have been the aggressor. The one pinning Rodney. Crowding him. Pushing up against his naked body. Biting the side of his neck. And … Damn it. John hears himself moan. Loudly.

He isn’t usually vocal. Not at all.

***

When John was fifteen, Jonas D. Neyman - the pure cliché of a quarterback - had pushed him into an empty classroom and got down him. They didn’t kiss, didn’t even speak. That was fine with John.

He has never kissed a boy, and never a man.

But he had some quick encounters with hasty hands in seedy rooms and dark alleys. Never once did he allow one of those guys into his own room. And he certainly didn’t let anyone pin him anywhere.

***

Meanwhile, Rodney’s hand is a constant and motionless pressure around John’s cock. Why doesn’t he _move_?

As if sensing John’s impatience, Rodney bites him again and says against his skin, “If you want some friction, you’ll have to get it yourself.”

John refuses to give in for roughly one minute. He stands still, secretly allows the wall to support him, but nothing more. Holds his breath and with it any moan. His skin feels overly sensitive. Exposed. Especially in contrast to Rodney’s clothes.

Yet another bite, harder this time, makes his hips jerk involuntarily. It’s almost enough.

John doesn’t stop to move after that.

He comes in Rodney’s hand to the sound of a half-forgotten pornographic video.

***

After having brought John to orgasm, Rodney leaves.

John, finally, turns off the laptop and goes to bed, very resolutely not thinking about anything.


	2. Chapter 2

“You still haven’t told me,” Rodney remarks. He touches the tip of his tongue against John’s glans, makes a fast, fluttering motion, and John grunts behind his arm - which is laying across his face, blocking out light and sight. Giving him something to hide behind. But he wouldn’t admit to that. At least not out loud.

“You are deluding everyone into seeing you as this cool and relaxed guy who generally doesn’t give a damn,” Rodney had said earlier as a way of greeting. “But this isn’t real, is it? You are awfully repressed.”

“Why are you here, then?” John had thrown back, doing his best to keep a blank face.

“Have you seen yourself? Really, how could I not want to tear your clothes off. Preferably now.”

Rodney had proceeded to do just that. While John ignored the flash of hurt at Rodney’s words. He has always been the guy who people wouldn’t push out of bed. But nothing more. There is no reason to expect something else, now. No reason to want something else. Really. John hasn’t even come to terms with Rodney not only knowing about his secret, but being here, right now, with his head between John’s legs.

Same as last time, John is completely naked while Rodney hasn’t even taken off his damn shoes.

“And?” Rodney prods, coming back to his first question, and brushes a finger over John’s testicles. It tickles.

John forces out, “What?” As if he didn’t know what Rodney is aiming at. As long as he is asking questions, he doesn’t have to give answers.

***

When John was sixteen, he tried to shove a cucumber up his ass. It didn’t go well.

Five years later, he let a woman fuck him with a strap-on, which was okay. She thought, he was indulging her. He asked himself, how it would be with a man.

John hasn’t tried something like that again. Except for some play with his own fingers.

***

“I mean,” Rodney says, “do you want to fuck me …,” he is back to the fluttering motion with his tongue. “Or do you want _me_ to fuck _you_?”

“I want you to finally get on with it.” Because John really doesn’t want to answer that question. And Rodney is a damn tease.

Until he isn’t.

Rodney’s mouth is a menace at the best of days. It turns out to be just as devastating around John’s cock.

John has to bite the inside of his arm to keep himself from moaning. He’ll have marks from his own teeth, when this is over.

However, what makes John come so hard he blacks out for a moment or two, isn’t Rodney’s mouth. It’s Rodney’s finger carefully stroking first behind John’s testicles, and then around his opening. _Almost_ pushing in. That does it. 

“I see,” Rodney says. And John fears that he actually does.

***

John still hasn’t seen Rodney naked. He can’t even be sure, that the other man gets off by getting him off. 

Maybe it’s just a mental thing for him?


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is night, I am tired - so... hopefully, I haven't missed too many mistakes.

When Rodney barges into John’s room without knocking or announcing himself in any way, John is not surprised. He hasn’t exactly expected Rodney. But, yeah … not surprised.

It’s 3:00 am.

“Why aren’t you asleep?” Rodney asks and sits down on the edge of John’s bed as if it were his own. He starts taking off his shoes, puts the first one aside with a relieved, little sound and looks up at John. “Well, come on.”

John is still sitting on his couch, trying to decide if it is worth the effort to throw Rodney out. Or if he –

“I have had a long day, too many hours wasted because of the utter stupidity of those morons I am forced to work with. My patience, if I ever had it, isn’t just about to run out but is already so far away, you couldn’t find it with a telescope. So, get up and come here.”

“Yeah… No.“

With an exasperated sigh, Rodney gets up and comes to stand right in front of John. He is still wearing his second shoe. Yet, somehow, he doesn’t look ridiculous but adamant and determined.

John licks his lips without meaning to.

“All right, if you don’t want it more comfortable …” And Rodney sits down on John with one knee on either side of John’s thighs. This position, John is no stranger to. But just in the sense of having it seen in pornos. 

Rodney seems bigger that way, and he feels heavy, strong. Pinning John in place. Again. 

In the matter of seconds, John is completely hard. It’s all he can do, to not lift his hips off the couch and seek some friction. Clenching his jaw to hold those treacherous sounds in, which are lurking and pressing in his throat, he isn’t quite sure, if he should regret wearing nothing more than his pants. Or if he should regret wearing anything at all.

With a deft hand, Rodney makes use of the space between their crotches and reaches into John’s pants – putting an end to John’s thoughts the same way he has barrelled into the most intimate part of John’s life. With determination and single-mindedness.

John’s hands clench on Rodney’s hips – and when had he even put them there? Jerking back would have been one option. He holds on tighter instead, kind of wants – Something. 

“What do you want?” Rodney asks as if reading John’s thoughts.

Silence hangs between them. 

Until Rodney sighs. “All right then,” he says, his voice becoming more intense. “Put your head back onto the couch.” He clearly expects John to obey.

And John does. Or his body does, without being controlled by conscious thought. Baring himself like that feels in a sort even more exposing than being almost naked or having Rodney touching his cock.

John swallows, feels the strain in his throat caused by the position. He wants to lift his head again, wants to get up, get away. 

Then, suddenly, there is a hand at his throat, exerting careful pressure.

John could shove Rodney away, easily – kind of wishes he could not. He feels dizzy, shoves this last thought away with a vengeance.

Swallowing again, John feels his throat work against Rodney’s hand, and in the darkness behind his closed eyelids are flashing bright points of light. He can still breathe properly but feels out of breath, sensations assaulting him. His hips are moving, fucking his cock into the tight channel Rodney is forming with his other hand.

“You are so sexy,” Rodney says almost against John’s lips. It’s a kiss that could be. And John wants. He still wants. Something. Anything. He doesn’t know. He –

He doesn’t even object to be called sexy like this.

When Rodney shifts his weight, loosening the pressure around John’s throat with the movement and taking his other hand completely away, John very nearly groans in frustration. However, the sudden deprivation doesn’t last long as Rodney takes one of _John’s_ hands and pushes it down.  
A strong grip guides John’s middle finger between his own butt cheeks and John almost - _almost_ blushes. He gulps, wishing for the pressure around his throat to come back, to ground him.

It’s ridiculous – the intensity of John’s reactions seems so excessive to him. He might not have much experience with men, might not have sex all that often, but he definitely is no blushing virgin. Damn it.

Humming as if in deep thought, Rodney presses John’s finger _just so_ against his opening. “Very good,” Rodney murmurs. “Can you hold it like that?” It’s a question, yet it is not. “Don’t push in.”

And John feels strangely torn between disobeying – even if this would mean to fuck himself with Rodney _right there_ or doing exactly what the other man wants him to do.

Again, the hand at his throat breaks through his thoughts, his internal fight, when Rodney tightens his grip, his thumb and forefinger relentless under John’ jaw, bending his head further back. As far as the coach yields.  
The other hand closes around John’s cock once more, with equally relentless strength.

John is thoroughly pinned down. And he lets it happen.

***

One Woman John had sex with a few years ago, asked him to tie her down and have his way with her. He had done so with less enthusiasm as he let on.

When she asked him to change their roles, he said no. Something he doesn’t do that often. But there _are_ limits. 

He isn’t all that sure that he’d say no to Rodney. Isn’t sure he’d want to.

***

Rodney starts jerking him off that way, pulling his foreskin up and down, covering his glans and exposing them. Rubbing skin over skin. First, he exertis too little pressure until he adjusts and gets it just right, obviously following clues John must have been giving unconsciously.

Maybe, John should be worried because of his lack of control. But he is too busy dealing with the onslaught of sensations. Even his own finger, unmoving, is a disturbingly arousing point of contact. Even more so without pushing inside. It seems as if all his nerve endings were ablaze with the simple touch. With anticipation. With a deep yearning.

It may not be Rodney touching him there, yet he is in a strange way – by having told John what to do.

And by doing just that again, “Now, push in. But just the tip,” Rodney takes control again. “I want you to feel it. Feel the finger breaching you. Feel, how it stretches you. Just a little bit. But it will be enough.”

And it is enough.

His finger, dry as it is, drags at his skin, pulls where it’d otherwise be gliding. It’s not painful, exactly, but the intrusion sure feels intense. At the same time, Rodney does something wicked with his hand, and John hears himself moan loud enough that the sound fills the whole room.

He doesn’t even sense the beginning of his orgasm. One moment, John tries to get a grip, the next, he is already convulsing and shuddering and trembling while his fingertips and his toes are tingling or going numb or both – he can’t tell anymore.

This time, John does black out.

When he comes to, Rodney has opened his own trousers, pulled out his cock, which is hard and red with a large and perfectly round head, and has started to bring himself off.

Still reeling from his orgasm, John watches him without moving a muscle. And watches him moan, watches him close his eyes then open them, gaze fixed on John, his face, his stomach, his chest. Coming. Onto John’s face, stomach, chest.

After, Rodney closes his trousers and brings John one wet and one dry towel.

 

***

“Next time, I am going to fuck you,” Rodney says while leaving. John, with the towels lying next to him and his cock resting bared and soft on top of his pants, stares after him.


	4. Chapter 4

“Next time” doesn’t seem to happen. Not, that John had hoped it would. Not, that he is in the right mood. Things on Atlantis and on missions go to hell, more like they usually do. People are dying and John can do nothing about it.

Then, they lose Elisabeth.

***

John can hardly sleep at night, is keyed up and angry, and he knows that Rodney might cope better than him. Or he might not. John just can’t bring himself to care. There’s so much he tries to not care about.

***

John is contemplating to have dinner. He hasn’t eaten in something like two days and he should keep his body in physically good health, so as not to become even more useless in protecting his people. But he is already lying in bed – even though clothed and on the sheets not under them – and getting up sounds so …

Rodney barges into the room in his usual manner, loud and unstoppable. “Get up!” he growls and comes to a stop only next to John’s bed, tapping his foot impatiently.

“Well …,” he says, when John doesn’t move. “Do I have to drag you out of bed?”

John gives him a blank stare. “Yeah,” he drawls as best as he can manage. “I’d like to see you try.”

“Do you, now?” And Rodney sounds dangerous. Unusually so. Yet, the undertone is strangely fitting.

The sudden image of Rodney grabbing John and throwing him over one shoulder like a sack of potatoes, comes to John’s mind. Ridiculous.  
And he’s had enough. More than enough.

Ignoring the bulge in his trousers, which has no right to have grown so rapidly, John gets up and into Rodney’s space, almost pushing chest against chest. “I did _not_ invite you here.”

“Of course, you didn’t.” Rodney stands his ground. “You’d rather be all stoic in public and hide away in private than letting anyone in and show yourself as a human being with – perish the thought - something awful like _feelings_.

“None of your business what I do or don’t do.”

“Yes, you would say so.” Without missing a beat, Rodney steps even closer, bringing their chests in contact. “Turn around.”

John can feel Rodney’s breath on his lips like a fleeting touch. He can’t stand it. “Let me guess – or else you will make me?” There is a poison underlying John’s voice, he’d normally never adopt.

“I won’t need to.”

“Oh, you have it all figured out, have you? The great Rodney McKay couldn’t possibly –“

“I _did_ promised to fuck you.”

John laughs without joy. “Yeah, sure.” He still feels Rodney’s breath. They are both breathing hard.

“Yes,” Rodney says in a matter-of fact way which only fuels John’s ire. 

And John hates, how easily he is derailed by Rodney. How unhinged he is. Hates, that he can feel Rodney’s closeness like a phantom touch on his skin, on his lips, and he _wants_. 

Keeping himself from closing the remaining distance between them and – despite his anger – taking the kiss he shouldn’t yearn for, John does turn around, after all.

His hands clench at his sides.

 _Fuck it,_ he thinks. _Fuck it all._

With two decisive steps, he goes to the back side of his couch, puts his hands down onto it. His fingers grip the cushion that forceful, it almost hurts.

“All right,” he says between clenched teeth and resolutely doesn’t look over his shoulder. “Get on with it.”

And Rodney does. John’s words have barely been spoken, when the other man is behind him, reaches around his body. And in a matter of seconds, John’s trousers are open and Rodney yanks them down to mid-thigh, taking care of the pants in the same move.

Cool air hits John’s skin, but it’s more the knowledge of his position and Rodney’s gaze that makes him shiver. The knowledge of what’s about to happen. When he was with the woman and her strap-on, he hadn’t felt like… that. John can’t even begin to entangle the mess of sensations washing over him. There is embarrassment, exhilaration, maybe, and the anger, still, held fast in the pit of his stomach and his hard grip on the couch. And –

Rodney grabs John’s hips with strong fingers and presses up against him, forcing a clothed but undeniable hardness between his cheeks. 

John strengthens his stance, refuses to give way even the tiniest bit. Refuses to arch into the hands releasing his hips and gliding over his sides, his chest, down his arms in an infuriatingly proprietary manner. Closing around his wrists. Yanking –

And Rodney pulls John’s hands behind his back, pushes him forward at the same time with a hard shove of his hips.

Before he knows what happens, John’s legs hit the back of the couch. It is testament to his state of mind and body, that he can be overpowered like that. He gets ready to get up, when Rodney moves again, presses John’s crotch with two, three, four shoves against the couch. followed by a warning squeeze around his wrists.

He shouldn’t allow this to continue. Instead, without conscious thought, his body goes lax. Even when Rodney pulls John’s hands further back and puts them on John’s own butt cheeks, he doesn’t resist. The position lets his upper body hang down over the couch, leaving him with his ass high up, and if standing like this might be almost too much of a strain on the back of his knees, it’s a detail John barely registers. 

“Hold yourself open for me,” Rodney orders and releases John’s hands, obviously expecting John to do as he is told – which is exactly what happens.

Part of John can’t believe it. The other part is strangely numb and focused at the same time. Focused on the air touching his skin, the faint smell of long-used cushions and of his own sweat. Focused on his hands, on each of his fingertips biting into his own skin, on the stretch which is created by his hands and his fingers holding his own ass cheeks apart, on his hole clenching and almost fluttering.

And he hears a ripping noise, feels something cool drip between his cheeks, directly followed by the touch of Rodney’s finger.

John moans into the fabric of the couch. 

It’s all-consuming, when Rodney shoves one unrelenting finger into John. He doesn’t go slow. Doesn’t give John time to adjust to the sudden intrusion, but just starts fucking him like that. A few times. Then, he adds a second finger.

Through it all, John holds himself open, his knees giving in until the couch completely carries his weight and presses painfully against his crotch. Still, John is hard, has been for quite some time.

He doesn’t want to contemplate why he reacts as he does, why it is so easy to succumb to Rodney, even if it might frighten him. Even if surrender isn’t in his nature. Even if he is still angry, at nothing specific, at Rodney. At everything.

John is aware, that he hasn’t been well since Elisabeth. But that’s another thing he doesn’t think about.

Three fingers are inside him, now. Pushing, stretching. Still, not gentle at all.

It’s not enough.

“Stop playing around,” John bites out. “Just _DO_ it.”

Rodney is silent behind him. When he finally withdraws his fingers, he doesn’t seem to do it because John told him to – a detail John can feel without seeing, without knowing _how_ he can know.

The faint rustling of clothes being moved fills the room, accompanied by the sound of a zipper being pulled down, reverberating louder than it should be possible.

A shiver runs through John’s body, spreads to his toes and his fingertips, tingles in his neck and makes his stomach queasy with an intensity, he hasn’t experienced before. For a moment, he is so distracted by this onslaught of sensation, that he is almost surprised by the blunt pressure between his cheeks.

And without further ado, Rodney pushes, gliding into John with one relentless shove.

It is too much, too fast. Yet, somehow, exactly what John needs. He is rock-hard, feels his own fingers bite into his skin. He holds himself open, still. The thought to stop doing so is a muted, distant one.

As soon as Rodney is all the way in, he starts to fuck John, doesn’t give him time to adjust to the intrusion. Rodney’s hips snap harshly, jostle John’s body in a fast rhythm and drive his cock almost painfully against the couch.

With each thrust, Rodney grunts. He must have an excellent view of himself moving in and out of John, stretching him open in a way, even the strap-on hadn’t managed. Because Rodney’s dick is thick. At least, it sure feels that way.

John bites into the couch as a way of silencing himself, the fabric dry and rough against his tongue. He feels – strange. There’s a lump in his throat, which he hadn’t even been aware of, seems to grow, making it hard to breathe. As if it were actually there and not just some metaphorical weakness.

Rodney has his hands on John’s hips and his cock in his ass. There is no further contact between them apart from their legs touching and Rodney’s crotch hitting John’s ass. But those two are merely a consequence, not an deliberate act. And John kind of wishes … But, no. The couch is holding him up, supporting him, and he is getting fucked. What more could he want.

John forces every thought out of his mind, concentrates on his body. And every uncomfortable sensation is as welcome as the hardness between his legs. Maybe, it might be even better, if Rodney _hadn’t_ prepared him, if the thrusts _did_ hurt.

John tightens the fingers on his ass even more. He’ll get bruises from that.

***

Rodney comes first, this time.

Right after, he grabs John and shoves him – as if handling a puppet - onto the bed.

The strange feeling hasn’t left John. It rests in his stomach, tightens his throat further, and he longs for his anger. Being angry is easy.

As soon as John’s lying on the bed, trousers still bunched up around his knees, Rodney sits down next to him and pulls him off with hard strokes. Again, he isn’t touching more than necessary, the dip in the bed the most palpable indication of him being near John. Apart from that, his hand could as well be some disembodied illusion.

John has his arm thrown over his eyes. He can’t say, if Rodney is watching him. Can’t say, what his expression looks like. If he _wants_ to get John off, or if he’s just being courteous. And it shouldn’t matter either way. It’s not more than sex, not more than satisfying bodily needs.

Except, satisfaction feels like s goal so far, John can’t even see it.

Rodney keeps moving his hand. Perfunctorily. Maybe.

With Elisabeth, John could tell. She enjoyed their encounters, as did he. And whatever they did or didn’t do, it was always enough for both of them. He never felt lonely with her. Without her…

John tries to ignore his thoughts, concentrates on the hand on his cock. Sex is always good. But it isn’t all about sex, is it? He never _loved_ Elisabeth. That much is clear, even if John doesn’t really know how love should feel. Or maybe he did love her as a friend. As someone he could trust.

Trust doesn’t come easily to him.

John bucks into Rodney’s hand – just to realize that his erection has waned, and Rodney has stopped moving.

“Go away,” John hears himself say. He keeps his arm over his eyes.

“John…”

“Go.”

John hears Rodney getting up, feels the mattress shifting. And that’s good. He needs to be alone, must get himself under control without someone watching.

He hears Rodney moving away from him. Still good. Better. Of course, it is. John has been a solitary kind of guy his whole life. He doesn’t _need_ other people, much less closeness. He doesn’t get lonely.

And he most certainly doesn’t cry.

“You know what?” Rodney suddenly says. He hasn’t left the room. “No. Just, no.” There are steps, and the mattress shifts again with Rodney’s weight.

“Don’t you ever do what you are told?” John curses the frailness of his voice.

“I won’t just leave,” Rodney states with a conviction, John can’t believe in. Doesn’t want to believe in.

“How many times do I have to tell you? I don’t want you to stay.”

“Well, we both know how reliably your statements are when there are feelings involved.” And, contrary to his words, Rodney gets up again. Which is just for the best.

John swallows around the lump in his throat.

He startles, when Rodney suddenly pulls at his feet. Or, more precisely, at his boots. Rodney pulls them off, followed by John’s trousers and pants. And… really? John doesn’t want to say it out loud, but he isn’t ready for more sex, right now.

Rodney comes back onto the bed, and John considers shoving him off. And, hey, there’s the anger again. But it has an edge of… something to it. John isn’t in the habit to name each of those feelings he can’t ignore.

Trying to bring himself to act, John is deftly manoeuvred onto his side. Then, Rodney lies down behind him, puts an arm over John’s waist and – does nothing.

In the silence of the room, John can hear his own, ragged breath. He is glad to have his face still hidden from Rodney’s gaze.

Never has he allowed anyone to hold him like that, before. Not, that someone had actually tried to.

Rodney strokes steady and slow patterns over John’s hip and his waist, and John accepts it the same way he always does with Rodney. Likes it, as he never voices. He buries his head into the pillow and tries to stop shaking. He doesn’t for quite some time.

***

“You and Elisabeth …,” Rodney starts later, unexpectedly insightful.

“No,” John says, meaning “I won’t talk about this.”

“Where you in love with her?” Rodney asks anyway.

And John surprises himself with a sudden burst of honesty. “I have never been in love,” he says.

***

John is afraid of Rodney asking, “Are you now?”

But Rodney just kisses his neck wordlessly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next and last chapter will be a short one. I’ll try to post it soon.


	5. Chapter 5

“We both know that talking about things isn’t something you do.” As always, Rodney barges into John’s room without being invited. Or, maybe he has been kind of invited all the time? John shakes his head and concentrates on the issue at hand. Namely: getting Rodney to shut up.

Which – he has no idea how to manage that. But distracting him should work just fine.

“Hey, Rodney,” he drawls as best as he can. “Hadn’t expected to see you anytime soon. With Kavanagh having –“

“No,” Rodney cuts him short. He scowls at John. “Nope. I know exactly what you are trying to do. And I won’t fall for it. I… Kavanaugh isn’t actually…? No, we _will_ talk. Or you will listen to me, at least. Do you think, you can manage that? Listening. Isn’t all that difficult.”

While talking, Rodney has come up to John, who is standing half way between is couch and the bathroom.

“Sit,” Rodney says, gesturing towards the infamous seating furniture.

John remains where he is, crosses his arms in front of his body and quirks an eyebrow at Rodney. Even if he may have lost his composure the other day, he still has his dignity. Or so he tells himself.

With an exasperated sigh, Rodney comes one step closer. He is now inside John’s personal space. But backing away is not an option John is willing to choose.

They stare at each other.

“All right,” Rodney starts again after some uncomfortable moments of silence. “As we have obviously a _thing_ going on between us,” he makes an unintelligible gesture, “and I don’t want it to end. And I know that you don’t want it to end…” Rodney pauses, looking pointedly at John. “Feel free, to join in whenever you –“ Rodney sighs. “Yes, I asked you to listen, I know.”

Again, they stare at each other.

John gets the distinct impression that Rodney is nervous. Which wasn’t the case in their other encounters and, in turn, heightens John’s uneasiness. He doesn’t let it show.

“No reason to bolt,” Rodney says.

Well, at least John tried to not let it show.

Silence rises between them, even if Rodney threatened to _talk_ , and the silence is filled with something, John can’t grasp. 

Until Rodney groans, “Damnit!” In a flurry of motions, he puts one hand into John’s hair, the other first into his neck, squeezing once, then on his hip. 

John groans, his body reacting before his mind can interfere. And he knows, what Rodney wants to do, feels his lips tingle while his thoughts are still catching up. He leans into Rodney’s touch involuntarily, then, he finally perceives the full implication of his behaviour. 

Torn between a sudden longing for closeness and the need to regain distance, to shield himself, John pulls away.

Just to be yanked back. The suddenly ruthless grip in his hair sends a shock of pain through John’s body. He shudders and leans against Rodney in a frighteningly unstoppable rush, feeling as if he could come from this alone, and at the same time not wanting something so profane, so final, like an orgasm.

When Rodney brings his lips against John’s, it’s almost an afterthought, And so much more.

John allows Rodney to take control, to hold him, invade him with a clever tongue, and he gives in.

It is not a conscious decision on John’s part, but one that seems inevitable. Sudden, yet – equally - it may have been a long time coming.

***

“I will _need_ you to tell me, when I am doing something you are uncomfortable with,” Rodney says against John’s lips.

“Like barging into my room? Refusing to let me alone?”

“I am serious, John.”

“So am I.”

“Are you?”

***

John pulls against the ropes fixing his wrists to the bed. “You want me to choose a _safeword_?”

“You say that as if this is an inertly new concept to you. Yes, John, I want you to choose a safeword. As I should have quite some time ago.”

Rodney has started this habit of using John’s name more often. John doesn’t know how he should feel about it.

***

“Elisabeth,” John says. “My safeword is Elisabeth.”

He doesn’t say: “The most important word for me is ‘Rodney’,” because this would be awfully sappy, and would have been too much of an admission.

Rodney smiles and kisses him. “Understood.”


End file.
